


Sizzle, hiss, pop

by AnotherWorld3111



Series: Angels and Demons Verse [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Blood and Torture, Gangs, Gen, Interrogation, Mafia Leader Sam, Mobs, No actual pedophilia occurs, Pedophilia, mafia, metatron is just a sleazy bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 18:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20440664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherWorld3111/pseuds/AnotherWorld3111
Summary: Metatron is finally interrogated.





	Sizzle, hiss, pop

**Author's Note:**

> Betcha thought y'all wouldn't see me? Well, think back suckers, cuz I'm baaack!  
To post this oneshot, idk what's next for this verse because the next update on my todo list is prob gon be for another series. Seriously. I'm actively working on two different fics that are standalone and completely new, and then there's this series and another and I'm probably forgetting another one for good measure.  
*sighs* that being said, apologies for my disappearance nonetheless. Taking a full schedule during summer quarter was torture (but if it was torture than I'm a masochist because I still enjoyed the productivity) and I barely had the time to write, esp during finals which was like 1/4th of the quarter.  
Anyhoo, hope you enjoy!

Bronze knuckles were always a good choice. Sure, he could use the brass ones, but they just weren’t as flashy, glinting like the bronze ones would do in the light right before meeting with flesh. “Has he said anything?” Sam muttered, carefully slipping on the knuckles.

“Apart from a bunch of spineless whimpering and useless rambling that he’s innocent? No.” Azazel said evenly, eyes cold and dispassionate as he stared at Sam.

Sam sighed, stretching out his neck. “That’s what I thought.” He said tiredly.

However, his seemingly lack of care was just a show. There are times when Sam doesn’t care to… interrogate, but must keep up appearances and all. Then there were times like now when reports like the ones Dean showed that made Sam itch with the energy to release it on a low-level scumbag of the likes of Metatron.

Inhaling deeply, Sqam straightened, squaring his shoulders. Turning, he nodded to the door in front of them. Azazel, in turn, gestured sharply at one of their lackeys guarding the door, who hurried to open it. The heavy metal hinges squeaking, Sam stepped into the connecting chamber. Inside, right at the center and under a sole lightbulb relentlessly causing him to squint, Metatron sat bound by chains, blinking as he tried to see who was entering. 

When he did, his expression cleared, and leaning back, Metatron grinned widely. “Well, if it isn’t the boy king himself!” He said by means of greeting. His voice was stuffed, probably because of the broken nose that had a disgusting trail of blood dripping down his lips.

Sam strode forward and punched him in the nose again. Metatron shouted, the chair teetering precariously to the side. Azazel, who’d most likely been on his heels, darted forward to righten the chair none too gently, before taking his place at the wall behind Sam again.

“The hell was tha’ for?” Metatron yelled, tears rapidly pooling at his squinty eyes. 

Sam disgustedly grimaced. Maybe he should’ve considered wearing some heavy-duty gloves because he’d barely grazed the guy with actual skin and he was already shuddering from the scant contact. “That,” he said, pausing for effect. “Was just on pure principal.” He shrugged. Smoothing his coat with a harsh tug, he started to circle their prisoner. Metatron was clearly starting to squirm, and Sam relished in it.

“But also a promise… a taste of what you’re going to get. If you don’t give me the answers I want.”

By the time Sam rounded back to face Metatron again, he was staring at Sam far too shrewdly for a guy bound and already more than a little roughened up.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t have given you answers without the beating?” Metatron exclaimed, but his eyes were still too calculating and assessing.

Sam faced him evenly. “Call it an intuitive hunch.”

Metatron had only the time to shoot him a bewildered glance before Sam was punching him again, this time right in the gut. Metatron doubled over as far as his chains allowed, gasping for breath. Blood dribbled out between his lips. Either the idiot bit his tongue, or Sam was going to have to hurry this up.

Sam really hoped it was the former. He had way too much information he needed to get before Metatron could start choking on his blood. That couldn’t happen, not yet anyway.

“If it’s still on the table, I’ll take the questioning without physical assault now.” Metatron struggled to bite out.

Sam smiled coldly. If it seemed too easy, then it probably was. He turned his head, not even bothering to look at Azazel to order him. “Everyone. Out.” He didn’t have to see his right-hand man to know he was going to voice a protest. “Now!” He barked out. And that shut whatever Azazel had to say right up. In mere seconds, everyone around the chamber keeping an eye on their prisoner all followed Azazel out, the thick heavy door slamming shut behind them.

Sam turned, leisurely walking to the closed door. He spun the wheel to lock it, and then walked over to a table at the side of the chamber, turning again to face Metatron as he leaned against the wooden furniture. The metallic tools on it clanged as the table was jostled.

“Start talking,” Sam ordered.

Metatron just stared at him like he was an idiot. “What do you even wanna know?”

Sam’s lips curled up into a cruel smile. “Why don’t you start with the kids?”

Metatron paled, much to his satisfaction. “W-what kids?” he stammered.

Sam snarled. “The ones in Michael’s brothel.” He crossed his arms, making sure to keep his arm with the knuckles on the top, the knuckles glinting just like he’d planned. 

“Th-there aren’t any kids in any brothel.” Metatron flubbed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t you?” Sam said, tone dangerous.

Metatron gulped. “There aren’t–Michael doesn’t know anything about that.” He stated weakly.

Sam cocked an eyebrow. “Now why did I know you were going to say something like that?”

“Michael doesn’t deal with kids!” Metatron spat out, with suddenly renewed vigor.

“I know.” Sam returned. “So what I want to know, is who’s supplying you with the kids from right under Michael’s nose.”

Metatron’s eyes darted away.

Sam rolled his eyes. Pulling away from the table, he quickly grabbed something off of it. Metatron strained to see what he was hiding behind his wrist, but Sam didn’t let him see it – not until he quickly popped his knee cap off with it.

Metatron  _ howled _ . He thrashed as hard as he could under all the chains, crying wildly as blood spurted from his leg.

Sam straightened to look at his now stained suit with dismay. It didn’t matter how many suits he’s had to replace, he still hated the blood that managed to get on his skin. 

He briefly debated on if he should pop Metatron’s other knee cap too while he was at it, really drive down how much he meant business, before deciding against it. Metatron would be too idiotic – or too loyal – if he hadn’t gotten the hint by now, both of which he knew Metatron wasn’t. So instead, he patiently waited for Metatron’s blubbering sobs to die down, if at least to something quiet so that he wouldn’t have to raise his voice to be heard. Well. Not much anyway. It wasn’t like it was exactly his fault that breaking down a person’s defenses through physical torture energized him to the point that he needed to release it somehow.

When he did shut up, whimpering pathetically and dripping snot and blood everywhere around his immediate vicinity, Sam let the clang of the blade dropping to the table ring throughout the room. He picked up a clean rag – it wasn’t going to stay clean for long – and wiped his hands. His hands, unfortunately, weren’t going to stay clean for long either. 

At least Dean wouldn’t mind helping him scrub off the blood later. Sam inwardly chuckled to himself. Hell, his brother was probably going to be jealous of Sam, if anything.

He wiped off the blade, taking care to focus on the hilt of it. It was crucial that he had a good grip on it and didn’t let it slip. It might make popping a knee cap more painful for Metatron, but generally also just harder for him.

“So, you willing to tell me who’s providing you with the kids now?” Sam called to the wounded animal behind him, letting the rag fall. This time, he spun the blade in a wild show as he approached Metatron. He flinched and then whined when the movement only jostled his leg, crying in protest when his actions proved to be vain.

Metatron mumbled something under his breath.

Sam bent forward, showing the man how much he was humoring him by going so far as to raise a mocking eyebrow. “Wanna try that again?”

“I–it’s not Michael.” Metatron gasped. He eyed the blade in clear view in Sam’s hand distrustfully. “Michael has nothing to do with it, the prude bitch.” Sam breathed noisily. He was losing his patience, and fast. He twirled the blade in the air, deftly catching it. Metatron’s breathing grew rapid.

“Give me a name,” Sam said flatly. “Or is that worth two of your knee caps?”

“It’s Yellow Eyes, okay?” Metatron shouted. “Yellow Eyes gets me kids in return for some info, that’s all I know!”

Sam leaned back. “What kind of information?”

Metatron shook his head, letting it drop. “I don’t know. He’d always just make me steal these reports from Naomi–”

“Naomi?”

“Michael’s secretary,” Metatron said, tiredly looking up. His eyes were drooping. Metatron was going to lose consciousness from the pain and blood loss, and soon, most likely.

“Michael, Naomi – none of them have anything to do with Yellow Eyes. They don’t know about Yellow Eyes, and we both kept it that way for our own reasons.”

Sam nodded. His smooth mask slid firmly and coldly in place. There was only one person Metatron could be referring to, and Sam knew exactly who Metatron was talking about. 

“Nice talking with you,” Sam said and lashed out.

Metatron did end up choking on his blood, Sam mused as he walked out of the chambers. If a slit throat caused someone to choke on their blood.

So. Naomi was next. Maybe he should let Dean have her.


End file.
